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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003939">the boy who flew</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snorlaxx/pseuds/snorlaxx'>snorlaxx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Changbin has tattoos, Coffee, Greek Mythology - Freeform, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, The Iliad References, acoustic guitarist!jisung, band au? sort of? not really? i tried, binsung, binsung are anime freaks, drummer!changbin, i live in a hell of my own devices and that hell is binsung and metaphors, i'm sorry chan i bet you make amazing coffee irl, jisung is a drum anti, minchan but like. for one scene, this is for my friend so @ friend you better leave a kudos, tw// love, unedited. that's sexy right?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snorlaxx/pseuds/snorlaxx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>and we leave them here, behind closed doors. thus concludes the story of icarus and apollo.</p><p>or, the drummer!changbin and acoustic guitarist!jisung au nobody asked for</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the boy who flew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/n5I/gifts">n5I</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>HIS DRUMS WERE RED.</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>his coal black locks were streaked with crimson; like the river phlegethon had decided to relocate to this boy's hair. some of it clung to his sweaty forehead and neck. the rest of him was a blur of rapid, precise movements. sticks hitting the top surface of drums, impacting against brass cymbals, combat boots applying pressure on what jisung believed was a bass drum pedal. and yes, his drum were fucking red. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>that, or jisung was seeing red.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>excuse me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you're hogging my practice room," jisung's voice was shrill, and for good reason, he was slightly pissed. he'd been the sole occupant of this room for his two years at college and he was not going to let a </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>gothic skater boy take that away. his yells of protest were drowned out, however, by the boy attacking the cymbals like his life depended on it. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"what?"</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"you're in the wrong room." jisung readjusted the strap of his guitar case, now that the boys' undivided attention was on him, he didn't feel so brave. he seemed to be studying him from his unruly bedhead (jisung doesn't believe in taming his hair) to his half-zipped hoodie and guitar case bedazzled with a diverse assortment of anime pins. the boy seemed really fixated on the case, travelling between the constellations of pins. "you like madoka magica? elite taste, i see." the boy nodded approvingly. jisung </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>madoka magica. he loved how he stepped into it, waiting to be encountered with adorable anime girls dabbling in magic but instead he got psychological trauma and tragedy. he loved it. but jisung was not in the mood to gush over a show and potentially lose his practice spot. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"i know, now if you would please leave?"</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"nope." drummer boys' nonchalance was eating at jisung.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"excuse me?" </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"i'm not leaving, sweetheart, the dean assigned me this room," his voice was, again, laced with indifference. "she did say i'd have to share, so, hi!"</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>jisung wasn't a violent guy but sometimes, like now when he had dragged himself through a shitty day at college and was looking to seek refuge amidst his guitar strings and sound waves, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>them and he knew if he opened his mouth, he would tell drummer boy to shove his sticks where the sun doesn't shine. so, like a civil seoulite, he flipped the guy the bird and stalked away to a far corner to sulk. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>drummer boy gave him an amused glance and continued smashing his percussion of choice. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>tattoos. several tattoos adorned his arms and neck: a moon flanked by waxing and waning crescents, egyptian hieroglyphs, a cartoonish grave complete with a tombstone, an intricately designed skull and a lone chinese dragon curling up his neck. the dragon was half-concealed beneath a black shirt and jisung wanted drummer boy to take his shirt off and reveal the rest of it (jisung mentally slapped himself for this sudden desire). </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"you're here again?" jisung crumpled to the floor, emphasising his disdain. drummer boy obviously did not catch the hint (or if he did, he didn't show it) because he extended a hand holding a disposable cup filled with what jisung assumed was coffee. or, a pitiful impression of the beverage. "that's coffee?" he deadpanned, staring at the mixture with a look of incredulous fear.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"instant, but yeah, more or less." the inviting curve that had assumed itself on drummer boys' lips didn't waver. jisung wasn't buying it, it had to be façade. he looked down hard at the brown liquid, glared at drummer boy in a well-practiced i'm-small-but-i-will-fuck-you-up way and stomped away to the only window (glass window starting 5 feet above the floor and ending at the ceiling. it's sill was broad enough to hold jisung) in the room. jisung made himself comfortable on the sill, staring out beyond the glass but not quite looking. just thinking vacant thoughts and creative death threats. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>jisung felt his presence before he heard his footsteps. he was about to tell him to get away but drummer boy simply placed the cup of liquid poison on the sill beside jisung, raised his tattooed arms as if in mock surrender, gave him a crooked smile and traced his steps back to his drum set. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>their evening was spent in silence as jisung was being petty and drummer boy was preoccupied with his phone. no loud bangs pierced the silence, just sighs and drummer boys' giggles as he laughed at something on his phone. jisung did not touch the coffee cup.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>as jisung left the room that night, he noticed drummer boy had a cup of coffee beside him as well. just that his was empty. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>so maybe he wasn't trying to poison jisung after all.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>jisung walked in, fully expecting drummer boy to be sitting there with his adorable smiles, and fully prepared to serve up an attitude.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>but to his surprise, drummer boy was absent. and jisung knew his eyesight wasn't the best but he could not spot the bright red and drums anywhere. his heart sank a little but he forced his titanic to float, he was supposed to be glad he had the room to himself once more. </span>
  <em>
    <span>he was supposed to be absolutely fucking ecstatic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>jisung sat down at his favourite spot, on the marble floor where the sunshine from the window bathed everything it touched in gold and honey. he retrieved his acoustic guitar, a petite wooden thing with too loose strings (jisung needed to tune those) and his credentials scribbled in black sharpie at the edge of the tail. he tried to hum, catch a tune, anything, but his mind was static and therefore, so was his guitar playing. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"fuck this, i need some caffeine in me," jisung muttered before letting his gaze travel to the window sill. the cup sat there, lonely and stagnant, much like how he felt at the moment. he got to his feet as stealthily as possible (which wasn't very stealthy at all because he was, you know, holding a guitar) and rested the neck of the guitar against the wall beside the window. he stared at the cup like it was roadkill; disgusting but intriguing. he picked up the cup and was about to sniff the mixture until his eyes zeroed in on a piece of hastily torn paper folded and concealed beneath the base of the cup. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>jisung eyes flitted about, scared that drummer boy would materialise out of thin air and catch him in the act of taking an interest in his stupid coffee and his stupid paper. fuck drummer boy to hell. once 99% sure that no cute boys with tattoos and drums would suddenly jump out at him, he unfolded the piece of paper.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'hi. you're never gonna ask and you probably don't care but my name is seo changbin. it would be nice to get acquainted at least, i'm getting kind of tired of referring to you as quote unquote That Weeb in my head. p.s: the coffee will NOT kill you.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>jisung's thoughts whizzed in his head at a thousand miles per hour, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why is his name so metal? why does he look illiterate when he can scribble words like 'acquainted' in notes to boys who've been nothing but mean to him? why am i The Weeb? fuck, so he's hot, cute, good at drums AND a total gentleman? unfair!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>he huffed because what else was he supposed to do? he'd driven the guy away. if he'd read the note yesterday he would have attempted at a conversation and maybe drummer boy ('seo changbin,' he corrected himself) would have stayed.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"this is why we can't have nice things," he scolded himself before pocketing the note.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung did not feel up to walking all the way to his practice room, which was oh so conveniently all the way across campus from his dormitory, but his roommate looked like he needed alone time with his girlfriend and also, he had not practiced in a while and he couldn't risk rusting his skills. so he swallowed the pill and dragged himself to the room.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"hi!"</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"don't you dare call me The Weeb, seo changbin," jisung had not been expecting him to be there and so, his only response was a harsh one. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"i see you read my note," his lips were smiling and his eyes were smiling and he was smiling, smiling, smiling. jisung plopped onto the floor in response and changbin followed suit. he handed him a cup of liquid death before sipping on his own. "for the record, i don't make this stuff. my roommate does and he isn't all that into poisoning people." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung had several questions (exhibit A: are <em>you </em>into poisoning people, then?) but kept them to himself. he wasn't sure if such questions were appropriate ice breakers. he wordlessly sipped from his cup, finding that the coffee just <em>looked </em>bad. as far as taste went, it was decent. sugary but decent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"do you play?" changbin nodded towards the guitar case. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"duh."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"can i see you play?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"hold your horses, man. that is like, third base," jisung drawled, causing changbin to bubble with laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"so. we're at third base now." changbin lingered by the door, leaning against it like he invented the act of leaning against doorframes. his eyes were flanked by dark and red hair and his shirt was sleeveless. jisung gulped. "shut up." because he'd seen him play.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung had been playing with a new tune and weaving it into a harmonious piece when the scent of coffee hit his nostrils and he swiveled back to see changbin staring at him like he'd seen the eighth wonder of the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"oh come on! you said it yourself; watching you play is third base!" jisung was redder than the sun dipping into the horizon right outside the window, he was redder than changbin's drums. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i hope you find murder sexy, because i'm about to go off the rails," jisung said between gritted teeth, which only heightened changbin's glee. "try me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the clouds gave the impression of cinnamon glazed popcorn and he imagined biting into them. the sky was the orange of nostalgia and the end of summer and laughter and drowning, winged boys. jisung let himself inside the practice room awash in golden flames. changbin wasn't there yet (he didn't know when he stopped tolerating him and started anticipating his company) and he had a few timeless moments to himself. the air smelt like some floor cleaning agent and he didn't mind the lemony tinge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and then, changbin was there, if the faint aroma of coffee puncturing the air was anything to go by.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"what are you staring at?" because he could feel changbin's eyes on him, looking, searching, wanting to see and unravel the mess that was han jisung. "you're gorgeous until you open your mouth, han." he raised a cup of liquidised nightmares to jisung, who took it, mulling over the 'gorgeous' part rather than the latter half of the sentence. it was a day of dwelling on the beautifully mundane. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i don't feel like practicing today. drums are loud. i like loud. just not today," his easy smile calmed something down in jisung and he returned the sentiment. so they sat in silence, changbin on the floor and jisung on his perch on the window sill, drinking their ridiculously sugared instant poison, looking at dust motes engaged in silent dances in sunlit ballrooms. the gazes they sometimes exchanged, sometimes stole, were a game of russian roulette where neither of them would emerge alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and when the cups were long drained of their last dregs of caffeine and the dust particles had settled and apollo had concluded his chariot ride across the sky and changbin had joined jisung on the sill, only then did jisung dare break the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"hyung, do you believe in love?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"no." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung glared holes into his not-so-clean sneakers. "but i'm obsessed with it. like how one would be obsessed with a myth. aphrodite and eros are myths borne of the human mind and i am absolutely in love with that human mind." changbin elaborated, his hand movements punctuating every syllable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"you're in love with love?" jisung grinned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"sure."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i get it though. being in love with myths, i mean." jisung's voice was barely audible but changbin was close enough to hear and hold on to every word. "you have any specific one?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"the boy who flew." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung expected him to laugh, to make fun of him or tease him but he asked a question that cemented his place in his heart, "which version? hesoid or homer? theogony or the iliad?" because <em>of course </em>changbin would know. what a nerd. jisung would be lying if he said he wasn't into that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"my own version." and jisung told him all about it; the foolish boy, standing at the edge of a cliff, wings waxed to his back, being told to fly. to fly and escape crete and king minos. to fly to somewhere safe, somewhere that would feel like home. and the boy plunged into the unknown, going up up up towards the sun. towards apollo. up and beyond. never down. he would never plummet downwards in jisung's version.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"he drowned. they say he drowned." changbin studied him as jisung worded this last bit, eyes narrowed. "do <em>you </em>think he drowned?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"yes." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>a long stretch of silence, not uncomfortable, not weighing upon them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"why?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"because he drowned in love," there it was again, jisung's hopeful doe eyes magnified with the intensity of a thousand suns. changbin had to admit, right in this moment, that he too, was drowning in love and maybe love wasn't a myth after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i'm like icarus, you know?" jisung mused, stuck on his own myth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"if i were apollo, i'd catch you." but jisung was already nodding off and so, the words found home on the floor as words often do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"come to my concert."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"what?"<br/></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"concert? you, me, my drums?" changbin twirled a drumstick. jisung often thought that the way he executed the move was like art. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung looked lost so changbin elaborated, "my band is having a concert at this gala and i want you to come watch! it'll be a good time, ji, i promise." and despite his disbelief, he couldn't say no. he said he'd be there. he said that because he didn't know then that said concert was five hours away from campus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>red lights. blue lights. lights that hurt jisung's eyes and beamed through his skull. lights lights lights.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and then, changbin on stage with his edgy rock band. he recognised a few members based off the pictures changbin had showed him. chan, changbin's roommate, best friend and DJ. he had scored them the venue and he had winked at jisung when changbin introduced him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>minho and hyunjin were the bassists, seungmin and jeongin were lead vocalists and felix was a guitarist. chan filled in as the keyboardist. and of course, changbin raising hell with his drums. the venue was loud and jisung thought he wouldn't be surprised if the dead awoke from their deadness to figure out who was making the ruckus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the concert took jisung's breath away (literally. he was suffocating amidst the masses.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"well?" changbin screamed from the stage. the concert was nearing its end and the members were saying their ments and farewells. he knew the question was directed at him. <em>you fucking made me your bitch, seo, </em>jisung thought as the crowd went ballistic around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>changbin was a sweaty mess when he enveloped jisung in a hug. it had taken him a while to emerge out of the concert hall but jisung didn't mind. he appreciated the solidarity; he appreciated the quiet after being in there for so long. not that he hadn't enjoyed himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"why're you hugging me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"sorry."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i didn't mind, i just asked why, mr. rockstar, would you hug such an insignificant being?" jisung cracked a grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"shut the fuck up, i'll hug you whenever i want to." his statement had a finality to it and jisung followed as he led them to his car. the pair buckled up and watched the other band members whiz by in their own vehicles. changbin was the second last to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i called chan, he'll come get us." changbin looked so relaxed, jisung had the urge to smack him across the face. he'd gotten them stuck in a ditch in the middle of nowhere at 1AM and he looked like he was on a picnic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"you drove us into a ditch," jisung repeated, hoping to transfer some of his panic to changbin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"just an excuse to spend more time with you," changbin joked and was immediately assaulted with jisung's mighty fists. he scrambled out of the car and directly into the mud. he squelched around in the filth, watching jisung laugh in his misery. but he was <em>changbin </em>and he couldn't really give a shit. he wandered out into the dark, not heeding any of his yells and screams and pleas to not go any further. \</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and suddenly, jisung was alone. and so fucking terrified. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he called out his name several times, punctuating it with death threats.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>no reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung waited until he couldn't anymore. he got out, vowing to kill changbin if he found him alive, and tip toed around the thicket of bushes they had ended up in. the boy was nowhere in sight. and by now, jisung was freaking out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>so it was justified when a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his waist and he screamed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"shut up, it's just me!" changbin was laughing his head off and jisung could do nothing except physically harm him. none of that affected changbin's pure delight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i thought you died, seo!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"so you do care about me," changbin mused, already making his way to the car. but no, he wasn't getting in. he was getting on <em>top </em>of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"fuck off." changbin held out his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he looked at his extended arm with something like incredulous fear. was that an invitation to hoist him up or the beginning of an arm wrestling contest, jisung couldn't tell. knowing he didn't have much of a choice, he latched onto changbin's hand. his thoughts pendulum-ed between <em>fuck, i'm gonna hold your hand forever </em>and <em>how do i subtly offer you some moisturiser because dang dude, your skin is really fucking dry. </em>these thoughts, however, were knocked right out of his skull when changbin lifted him upwards with the strength of ten hulks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and <em>fuck</em>, he was on the roof now. and <em>fuck, </em>he was on seo changbin. <em>fuck! </em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>before changbin's low chuckle could even dare hit his eardrums, he disentangled himself and almost tumbled off the roof in the process. thank god for seo changbin and his crusty hands holding him in place. jisung settled into a sitting position, tucked into changbin's side. sitting with him, watching him out of the corner of his eyes, jisung knew that if he were shakespeare he would invent the word "moonkissed" for the boy beside him. changbin was moonkissed and jisung was starstruck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"can you move over?" jisung fidgeted, trying to garner more space for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"no."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he huffed and would've thwacked the drummer right in the ribs was his hand not being held. "can you let go of my hand?" changbin pretended to think about that query.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"no."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"then, can you get us out of here already?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>changbin turned to give him a long look, "only if you stop bitching and look at the moon." jisung cast his glance heavenward only to never want to remove it again. here, in the middle of nowhere, where no sky-high building could obscure his view, he saw the moon in a way he figured poets saw her. in a way orion saw artemis, probably. jisung had always been so enthralled by the story he'd woven himself of icarus and apollo that he'd neglected pondering upon the moon huntress and her tragic friendship. the tale of artemis and orion was shrouded in tragedy because of apollo. because apollo had gotten jealous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"a penny for your thoughts?" the rugged boy whispered from beside him in a conspiratorial manner. like raising his voice would shatter whatever cloud jisung had encased himself in. if anything, he wanted to be invited inside that cloud. "just. just that apollo is a bastard." jisung tore his gaze from the moon to find changbin looking at him like he was his moon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"he was. your version of apollo-" he gestured vaguely, referring to their conversation from a couple days ago, "allowed him a redemption arc in my iliad." and then, "Changbin's Iliad has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" his eyes twinkled, making up for the lack of stars in the dark sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i'd read it." jisung smiled at their still intertwined hands, knowing changbin would never write his iliad in textual form. knowing he would have to read it when he conjured it some other way; in the steam that rose from his coffee cup, in the lines he quoted from shitty novellas, in the beats he drummed when he thought no one was listening, in the stories he made up when asked in regards to his tattoos. changbin was a story and jisung was an avid bibliomaniac. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"maybe i'd write your version of apollo. you know? he gave orion a place amongst the stars and placed his memory of hyacinthus into a flower and rooted cyparissus into mythology and . . . " changbin trailed off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"and what?" jisung whispered. harsh and hungry. wanting to know. wanting to never know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"and burned icarus into a legend." the gaze they shared was intense, a little intimate, a little bit of a challenge. before jisung could decide if he wanted to take the challenge or not, changbin's eyes shifted to something behind him and his face broke into a grin. he had jumped off the roof in no time, disappearing within the thicket of bushes. he watched as changbin rummaged through brambles laced with thorns, he watched as changbin emerged with a pristine, white hyacinth in tow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"this is proof of fate's intervention!" he exuded the elation of a child and jisung couldn't stop the giggle leaving his lips. jisung could handle the idea of fate; changbin had mentioned hyacinthus and here, between them, sat a hyacinth. according to homer, hyacinthus was a spartan who'd captured the attention of both apollo and the west wind, zephyrus, and hyacinthus had chosen the sun god. the two were playing a game of golden disc (quoit) when zephyrus altered the course of apollo's disc. the disc found home in the skull of hyacinthus. tragic, really. but so was every other greek myth and interpretation mattered a lot in such affairs. you could paint this as a story of love or of forlorn buskin. it was up to you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung decided he was fine with being basic and choosing love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i don't know about fate but i believe artemis-" he pointed at the moon, "is watching this and probably enjoying us slandering her brother." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"let's give her a proper show, then," changbin had that addicting grin, those devilish eyes and that spontaneous nature that kept jisung on his toes. so yes, he wasn't expecting him to tuck the hyacinth behind his ear. he wasn't. he wasn't <em>because what kind of cheesy movie is this, seo changbin? and why do i never want you to stop? </em>he wanted to freeze this moment, he wanted to tell artemis to look away, to leave him and changbin alone beneath the veil of night. he wanted to live on this car roof with him forever. the roof could be their version of calypso's island. alas, good things don't last.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>their brief 90s romcom moment was interrupted by the obnoxious honking of a rundown prius. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"aye lovebirds, get in the car!" and that is how they ended up in chan's car; changbin in the passenger seat and jisung in the back. to their simultaneous relief, chan had his own concerns that blinded him from jisung and changbin's little shenanigans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"you <em>what?</em>" changbin howled with laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"so you're saying you made hyunjin strand minho on the side of the road because you wanted to escort him back yourself?" jisung repeated, trying to make sense of the situation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"is that bad?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"very."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"will he kill me if he finds out?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"probably." chan groaned, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel and playing ed sheeran to soothe his nerves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>to chan's horror and changbin's delight, they soon neared the spot hyunjin had abandoned minho at. the red haired man paced under the streetlight until he saw the headlights of chan's car. he put his arm out, as though hailing a taxi. "don't say a word to him," chan hissed before braking in front of minho. changbin couldn't even stick his tongue out in response when minho flung open the passenger side door. "i'm pissed and i <em>will </em>sit shotgun, seo, get in the back with your squirrel boy." and that was the start of chaos inside a black prius.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"squirrel?" jisung squeaked. minho pushed changbin through the gap between the passenger and driver seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"stop kicking my face, dammit!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i'm a fully grown man being forced through a small gap by an angry, ginger feline onto a squirrel and you're concerned about your face?" changbin shrieked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"this is why we use the <em>door, </em>you uncivilised manchild." minho retorted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"you didn't leave me much of a choice, weasley!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"why am <em>i </em>the squirrel?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>changbin landed in the backseat, half on the floor and half on jisung's lap. "hi." the heat from jisung's argument waned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"squirrel?" he whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. his head felt warm on his lap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"i said that in the most flattering, loving way possible," he whispered back, showing no intentions to remove himself from his lap. jisung busied his hands weaving through changbin's red and black hair, passively listening to the other three bicker about. friends, the kind of which jisung had never had the fortune of meeting. until changbin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>minho propped his feet on the dashboard, "no seatbelts, we die like middle-aged men!" this earned him cheers from the other three occupants of the car. they spent a part of their journey singing along to pokemon theme songs, dissing chan's parenting skills, trying to teach jisung the names of minho's cats ("call seungmin and tell his ass that i'm terminating our friendship and replacing him with a squirrel."). the latter half of the ride was minho engaging chan in arguments so he'd stay awake while driving (even though chan never once was close to snoozing) and jisung braiding changbin's hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung was on campus by dawn, the hyacinth still tucked behind his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the letter arrived at changbin's shared dorm postbox a day before jisung's performance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung's stomach was a jittery mess. he peeked through the curtains to catch a glimpse of the crowd but immediately regretted it; the university auditorium was filled to the brim with a chattering crowd, people occupied every visible area and jisung had to perform a guitar solo in front of all of them. too many eyes. too many. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the auditorium was constructed like a mock colosseum (jisung imagined emperor vespasian scoffing in his grave at this modern recreation of his monument) and could hold over 120,000 people in it. jisung was well and truly fucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the text message alert dragged jisung back to reality;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you're gonna kill it, ji!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i'll be watching &lt;3</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the calm changbin always brought with him seeped into jisung's armour of uncertainty and he focused on taking even breaths. inhale and exhale, right? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>so when jisung lugged his guitar onstage, he pretended he was only playing for changbin in that dusty practice room. just the two of them. the rest of the world faded into white noise and though he couldn't tell where changbin was sitting, he could feel him watching. and that was enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung fingers strummed the guitar, fluid and elegant. the sound was amplified to the entire amphitheatre but jisung felt at ease. he loved playing his instrument, he loved the oldish wood and the feel of the strings against the pads of his fingers and he loved how the world ceased to exist in moments like these. he was trapped in a cocoon of melody. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>jisung exhaled as his performance came to a close. he was gently taken out of his cocoon and the sudden weight of the eyes, their applauding hands became too much and jisung, once again, scanned the crowd for a head of black and red but to no avail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he ran backstage, heart drumming against his ribcage, threatening to open up. he passed by people he'd never even talked to patting him on the back, congratulating him, ruffling his hair but he brushed them off. he really only needed to see one person. he fired him a text;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>meet me at the waiting room.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>but he wasn't there. instead, his guitar case was open and a messy bouquet of hyacinths and a handwritten note. upon picking it up, he could feel the <em>wrongness </em>of it;</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>hi ji.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i never got to tell you, i got accepted into this uni in seoul. that's kinda been my dream for a while now, you know? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i couldn't say goodbye to your face, i'm a fucking coward ji. i'll miss you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>so much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i'll see you soon, i will. i will. i will. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>the note felt short. the time they'd spent together felt short. jisung tossed the bouquet onto the wall, silent tears cascading down his cheeks and soaking his suit collar. he'd been so excited to show off his prim and proper suit, his styled hair. he'd been waiting for a cup of coffee and a careless smile. </p><p> </p><p>jisung loosened his tie, packed his guitar and slunk back to his dorm room. the hyacinths remained on the floor in that room. untouched until someone threw them away. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>jisung was escorted by a pretty lady to the room labelled "1-A". she gave him a slight bow before leaving him to his devices. </p><p> </p><p>his nerves were frayed but it had been three years and it was killing jisung to not knock upon that door. he had to. he'd waited too long. he knocked and heard the faint "it's unlocked" before stepping inside.</p><p> </p><p>he was leaner, his biceps more toned. his hair was still red and black and he still seemed to be watching shitty slice-of-life anime. oh, and he was still sipping on his stupid coffee.</p><p> </p><p>"that stuff is gonna kill you."</p><p> </p><p>changbin stopped amid chuckle, eyes puzzled, heart pounding. he looked up and he looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. </p><p> </p><p>"come here and make me stop drinking it."</p><p> </p><p>jisung was glad for the challenge and he happily obliged. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>and we leave them here, behind closed doors. thus concludes the story of icarus and apollo.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>twitter: @circehjs</p><p>HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY NISHWA, I DID THIS FOR YOU SO YOU /BETTER/ SHED A TEAR OR TWO</p></blockquote></div></div>
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